


You Had Me Since

by Emela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Hand Jobs, Jock Stiles, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Nipple Play, POV Derek, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shy Derek, Virgin Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/pseuds/Emela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would it help if I blew you?”<br/>“What?” Derek sputters. There is no way he heard that right. No way would <em>Stiles Stilinski</em> be asking him if he wanted a-<br/>“Blow job.”<br/>That.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Had Me Since

**Author's Note:**

> I have a huge thing for virgin Derek and jock Stiles. HUGE. This is just my contribution to that delightful trope.

Derek looks down at the envelope and sighs. He has _got this._ Erica said so. Boyd said so. _Danny_ said so and Danny’s a _genius_. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling like he is going slowly out of his mind. It’s just a stupid university, he tells himself. There are plenty of other universities out there. Plenty who have already accepted him. If he doesn’t get into this one, it’s no big deal. (He’ll just be the first one in his family not to get in. That’s all. No pressure or anything.)

“Hey, Danny?” a familiar voice says, opening his bedroom door.

Stiles who Derek’s been in love with since they were fifteen. Stiles who is the star of the lacrosse team while Derek stands in the bleachers, pretending to be there to keep Danny company while he supports his stupid asshole-boyfriend Jackson, all the while unable to drag his eyes from Stiles in those shorts he wears, watching the way they hug him as he runs down the field and fist bumps his best friend Scott whenever they score.

Stiles is the last person Derek wants to see right now. His head already hurts, he doesn’t need a visual reminder his unrequited love is still very much…unrequited. Erica says he should just tell Stiles, but Derek doesn’t think that’s a very good idea. Not when he doesn’t get to see Stiles much in the first place. If he told him he’d never see him. As it is, Derek only gets to be in the same room as Stiles when he comes over to Danny’s to celebrate with Jackson, Scott and Isaac on winning a game, and because Derek is Danny’s best friend, it’s just accepted he should celebrate with them too.

(Derek tries to deny the only reason he’s there instead of studying or watching _Game of Thrones_ is to watch Stiles like a giant creeper, but Danny has caught him looking like a love sick puppy far too many times for it to be something he only has to work on denying to himself.)

“Oh,” Stiles says, smile dissolving into a small frown. “I thought you were Danny.”

“He’s out with Jackson,” Derek shrugs, trying not to feel hurt that Stiles is disappointed to see him, focusing instead on keeping his eyes from wandering down to stare at Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ mouth is _obscene_. Derek is pretty sure Cupid carved it. It doesn’t help that Stiles sits through every class he shares with Derek chewing on pencils, or when he sucks on his fingers after every single slice of goddamn pizza when they order it.

“My sisters were annoying me,” he adds when Stiles doesn’t say anything, just continues to stand there, leaning against the door, arms folded in typical cool-guy stance. Derek wishes he found it less appealing and more arrogant, but Stiles is more loveable asshole than arrogant douchebag. God help him. “He said I could study here.”

“You like studying, huh?” Stiles says, rather than asks. Derek’s cheeks heat up.

“I guess so?” he mumbles, turning back to look at his envelope. “I like learning,” he adds, feeling somewhat defensive. Just because Stiles seemingly never needs to study to get straight As- fucking, beautiful, smart people- doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.

“Hey, I’m all about books,” Stiles says, walking into the room and sitting himself down on Danny’s bed. He looks comfortable there, Derek notices, like he’s been in it a hundred times before.

Derek knows Stiles used to date Danny before Jackson. Before Jackson realised liking boys as well as girls didn’t mean he was broken and came out to Danny by confessing that he “kind of loved” him and “could they have sex now?” (Supposedly, it was beautiful, but Danny has never been much of a romantic. Unlike Derek, who sometimes likes to fantasise about what he’d like his first dance to be at his (and Stiles’) wedding- because that isn’t weird _at all_.)

Danny hadn’t said much on how Stiles had taken the news at the time, but they still hang out every weekend and share weird computer jokes whenever Isaac is in the room just to annoy him, so Derek assumes Stiles was, and still is, okay with it. He can’t stomach the thought of Stiles jerking off and pining over his best friend. (He just isn’t sure if that’s because he doesn’t want Stiles to be unhappy or because he doesn’t want Stiles to be thinking of anyone else other than him. What is that saying? If I can’t have you, no-one can?)

“Earth to Derek.” Derek blinks to Stiles waving a hand in front of his face.

“Huh?” he asks, praying he hasn’t just been caught staring openly at Stiles’ beautiful, mole-splattered face. Derek longs to know how many moles Stiles has where he can’t see. Wonders if Stiles likes having them kissed or not.

“I asked, what’s that,” Stiles points to the white envelope that Derek has begun nervously toying at.

“It’s my letter from Stanford.” He pauses. “I’m afraid to open it.”

Stiles tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “Why?”

Derek bites his lip. He has never exactly talked to Stiles before. Isn’t sure he wants to risk finding out he likes it and let himself fall any deeper than he already has.

“Both my parents went to Stanford,” he finds himself saying anyway. “So did my Uncle Peter and his wife. Not to mention every single one of my older cousins. My sister Laura just graduated from there last year…” he shrugs, the prolonged tension caused by staring at a stupid envelope for three hours straight now making his shoulders ache. “It’s expected I go there too.”

“Is that what you want?” Stiles asks, leaning forward and reaching a hand out to touch Derek’s knee. Derek’s feels all the breath leave his body as long fingers draw small circles onto the denim there. Stiles has never touched him before either. Sure, they’ve sat next to each other, contact that sends electricity through Derek’s body every single time, but it’s never been an intentional thing. Deliberate.

“Yes,” Derek forces himself to focus. “I’ve always wanted to go, which is why it will be worse-”

“If you don’t get in,” Stiles finishes for him. “I was the same with my letter, dude. My Mom went to Stanford and it’s always been a dream of mine to follow where she went.” He smiles sadly.

Derek will never forget Mrs Stilinski. She had been a nice woman, always calling out to him with a book in one hand and a paintbrush in the other whenever Derek walked past her house with Laura on the way to school. It was her smile that Derek remembers the most. It’s the same smile Stiles has; warm, making you feel special for doing nothing more than taking the time to look at it.

“Did you?” Derek coughs. “Get in, that is?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow and shrugs in a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know kind of way, making himself comfortable on the bed once more by propping himself up with both hands.

Derek loves Stiles’ hands; they’re large and shapely and always look so _soft._ He has no doubt they would feel perfect on his skin. In another universe, where Stiles is an awkward teenager with a crush and Derek is something really awesome, like a werewolf, he’d know what those hands felt like. Stiles loves forcing everyone to watch _Wolverine_ on a monthly basis. No-one disagrees because it’s Hugh Jackman after all and Hugh Jackman is _hot._ Only Scott protests, but being Stiles’ best friend, Derek suspects he is subjected to watching it much more than once a month.

“Tell you what,” Stiles grins mischievously. “You open your letter and then I’ll tell you if we could potentially be sharing a dorm room next year.” He winks and Derek’s heart does a little flip. Stiles jokes around a lot, doesn’t mean half the things he says, but Derek can’t let himself not think about what it would be like to live with Stiles anyway. How torturous it would be to see him every day and not have him, but at the same time maybe grow closer to him. To see him shirtless vs. the parade of guys and girls he would probably bring back to have very loud, vocal sex in his bed with. (Derek has no idea if Stiles is the silent or talkative type during sex, but if Stiles can’t keep his mouth shut normally, it’s not hard to imagine which category he falls into when his dick’s involved.)

“I can’t,” Derek shakes his head, deliberately putting it down on Danny’s desk and pushing it aside. “Erica said if I waited until she finished her shift at the diner she would get me drunk and open it with me. I’m feeling so overwhelmed, I think I might take her up on it.”

“But you don’t like drinking,” Stiles replies instantly, before coughing and reaching over to pick up the book that is lying on Danny’s bedside table. Derek wants to tell Stiles it’s one of his favourites when his face lights up at the title, but is cut off when Stiles says-

“Would it help if I blew you?”

“What?” Derek sputters. There is no way he heard that right. No way would _Stiles Stilinski_ be asking him if he wanted a-

“Blow job.”

That.

“It will help relax you. Quieten the mind.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that really shouldn’t be endearing, but god help Derek it is. “I give amazing blow jobs,” he adds, like Derek needs to be _convinced,_ smirking when Derek just stares at him, mouth hanging slightly open.

“We don’t have to,” he says, smiling…Derek would say _nervously,_ but Stiles doesn’t do nervous. He flails and puts his foot in his mouth more often than he doesn’t, but it’s all done with the “Stilinski charm” and a confidence Derek wishes he had.

“I mean, I don’t even know if you’re into dudes,” he goes on. “Danny says you are, but I’ve never seen you with one. Not that I ever recall seeing you with a girl either…” he frowns and it’s adorable and Derek’s already a little hard.

“I am,” he blurts out. _Smooth, Derek._ “Into guys that is.” He attempts a smile, but he doesn’t think it extends past his imagination. “I’ve just never…” he looks down, knowing his cheeks are turning an unflattering shade of pink as he does.

“Wait, you’re a _virgin_?” Stiles asks, managing to sound tactless and awed at the same time. Derek nods shyly, unable to bring himself to raise his eyes back up to look into Stiles’ whiskey coloured ones. “Well, I don’t know if you’re waiting for marriage or just haven’t found the right person,” he goes on. “But if it’s something you would like to do”- he sits forward, opening up his arms- “it’s something I’m definitely up for, if you know what I mean.” He winks again and Derek silently reproaches himself for falling in love with someone who thinks innuendos are funny.

“You said you’re good at them?” Derek says, kicking himself at every word because _what the hell?_ Stiles isn’t offering to build Derek a freaking house here. He’s offering to put his mouth on his _dick._ He’s offering Derek his second favourite fantasy of all time and Derek is ruining it!

Stiles chuckles.

“I’ll make you forget everything but my name, if you’ll let me.” Slowly, Stiles slides off the bed, sinking to his knees in front of Derek and trails one hand up the inseam of his thigh. Derek’s breath hitches.

“I’d like that,” he says shakily, licking his lips and feeling a small thrill when he watches Stiles track the movement.

“Good,” Stiles says, grinning, motioning with his head towards the bed. “Hop on it.”

Derek is quick to comply, proud at making the three short steps without buckling under the weight of his own nerves. Once seated, he looks back to Stiles for direction. _That’s_ his favourite fantasy. The one where Stiles tells him what to do.

Stiles seems to clock on to this, smiling as he does, eyes dancing and oh, so bright. Derek thinks he wouldn’t mind being blinded just for the chance to have a few minutes to get lost in them.

“Lie down with your head half way down the bed,” Stiles says, coming to stand over him as he does, and then, “good boy.” Derek feels his dick twitch in his pants at the praise and bites down on the small whine that threatens to escape his throat. He’s wired with nervous energy, his body thrumming with it.

Stiles moves to straddle him and Derek can’t bring himself to do anything but watch as Stiles takes his wrists and manhandles him until his hands are resting on the pillow at the top of the bed. Derek has a great view of Stiles’ mouth like this and hesitantly, hoping he’s not about to make a fool of himself, lifts his head up, asking for a kiss.

Stiles obliges hungrily, claiming Derek’s mouth bruisingly, biting down before pushing his tongue inside and pulling a moan from Derek in return. Stiles’ mouth, like Derek always imagines, tastes good and Derek revels in the way Stiles’ tongue starts to explore every inch of his own mouth, taking his time, softening the kiss like this is something that matters to him, something he’s getting as much as a head-rush from as Derek.

“How was that?” Stiles asks, pulling back. Derek looks up at him dazed, not sure how to answer. Not sure if he remembers how to form words. “Because first kisses are important,” Stiles goes on. “I take it that was your first one?” Derek nods and Stiles flashes his teeth at him, tightening his hold on his wrists.

“My first kiss was terrible,” he rolls his eyes when Derek _still doesn’t say anything_ , “and while I’m _pretty_ sure yours was a good one by the way your eyes are almost all pupil now, I’d appreciate the confirmation.” He laughs. “I’ve been told I’m a bit of an egoist.”

“It was good,” Derek finally manages to get out, torn between feeling upset and lucky that Stiles is only focused on making this good for him, and not himself. Derek briefly wonders if Stiles is only doing this because he’s bored or has a virgin kink, but then there’s a hand popping the button of his jeans and the only thought he can process is the one that sings _StilesStilesStiles_.

“I want you to keep your hands on the pillow, okay?” he says, planting a soft kiss on his jaw. “Can you do that for me, Derek?”

Derek nods, feeling himself relax at the command. It’s reassuring and comforting, and does something to him beyond what he experiences when Stiles commands him to doing something in his head.

Stiles grins devilishly, a grin that promises Derek doesn’t know what, and begins to slide down Derek’s body, kissing him in random places as he goes, pushing up his t-shirt to expose his stomach.

Derek’s eyes flutter closed at the action, his breathing becoming heavier. He tries to stop the trembling, the way every cell in his body is attempting to shake loose, but when Stiles’ lips reach just below his navel it’s too much and Derek’s hips buck up embarrassingly, over-excited. He feels every bit the virgin he is, but Stiles doesn’t seem to care, kissing that exact same spot once more, nipping at it experimentally with his teeth and making encouraging sounds as Derek’s traitorous hips buck up again.

“I’ve never been with someone as responsive as you,” Stiles says, coming back up to lean over Derek, taking his t-shirt with him and pushing it up until it’s bunched around his wrists, making Derek feel like he’s tied up. It’s exciting and he wants to ask Stiles to use something stronger, something he can’t break free from, but Stiles asked him to be good, trusting him to stay still without anything to help him and Derek so wants to be good for Stiles.

Derek’s feels his face heat up at Stiles’ words and turning his head to the side, tries to hide it in his shoulder.

“No,” Stiles says, using two strong fingers to guide Derek’s gaze back to him. “That’s a good thing. I’m hard just thinking about it.”

“R-really?” Derek stutters out.

“Of course I am,” he says, rolling his eyes, blowing hot breath across Derek’s face. “Do you even know what you look like, Hale?” Derek swallows and shakes his head. He doesn’t try to take much notice of himself. The longest he ever looks in a mirror is to shave and even then he never focuses on anything but the white foam on his face. He’s not perfect, like Stiles, all long limbs and toned muscle. Derek often feels his body is too big, too broad, taking up too much room. As a result, he usually stands in the corner when there is a crowd and avoids hugging anyone who isn’t his mom or Laura at all costs, always feeling like a mother bear soothing her cub with anyone else.

“I don’t suspect you do,” Stiles says, shaking his head sadly. “If you did, you probably wouldn’t be-” but he doesn’t finish the sentence and Derek doesn’t get time to process it because the next thing he knows there are two hands at the waistband of his jeans, pulling down the fabric along with his boxers. Stiles leaves them sitting half-way down his thighs, restricting his movements even further.

Derek feels exposed like this, especially while Stiles is still fully clothed and the way he is looking at him only makes it worse. Derek is tempted to move his hands, to cover himself up, but then he remembers his promise and settles for shifting uncomfortably instead. He is fully hard now, steadily dripping pre-come onto his stomach, wishing for Stiles to just _do_ something and stop staring.

“You’re uncut,” Stiles says, sitting back to straddle Derek’s legs.

Oh no.

“Sorry,” Derek says, looking up towards his hands, how they were already clutching at the pillowcase. “I should have told you before we started.”

Stiles makes a confused noise.

“Why?”

“I know some people don’t like…you know…” He tilts his hips up and closes his eyes, hoping he doesn’t have to say it.

“Foreskin?” Stiles supplies, tone changing to one of amusement. Oh god, Derek should never have agreed to this. This is so humiliating. He feels like he’s being assessed, judged and his whole body heats up in a flush that probably has Stiles re-thinking the whole proposal himself.

“You can leave now,” Derek mumbles, trying to ignore the way his heart feels like it’s fucking _breaking_ as he attempts to sit up, but Stiles is right back on top of him again, pinning his hands above him.

“What did I say about keeping these on the pillow?” he says. His voice is authorative and makes Derek’s dick jump, but his eyes are soft, questioning, and Derek knows Stiles is wondering whether or not Derek doesn’t want this anymore, if he really does want him to leave.

He looks almost sad and even though Derek knows he’s imagining it, he can’t resist lifting his head up to kiss Stiles’ lips. He can’t do much, can’t get beyond the lightest of touches at this angle, but it’s enough, and suddenly Stiles is kissing him properly, hesitantly at first, as if to make sure, but then his tongue is diving inside once more, massaging his own as Stiles works a hand between them, caressing the skin there until his fingers reach Derek’s dick.

Derek lets out a gasp at the contact and Stiles bites down on his lip, drawing a pathetic sound out of him. Stiles seems to like that, however, stroking Derek more firmly and biting down again, harder this time, amber eyes hidden entirely by black when Derek whimpers.

“I need to get my mouth on you _now_ ,” Stiles whispers, giving Derek one last kiss. It’s chaste and sweet and Derek thinks that out of all of this, that’s the memory he will hold on to. The one he’s going to find most difficult to let go of.

Stiles takes his time, trailing his mouth down Derek’s chest, teasing his nipples. Derek has never thought of touching his nipples before, never something he associates with making him feel good, but Stiles’ mouth latching on to one, swirling his tongue and nipping gently, while a hand plays with the other, tweaking and pulling, makes Derek’s head cloud over with need. He doesn’t know if this is something you can practice, something you can’t automatically be good at, but the way Stiles is lavishing all his attention on them, slowly drawing out each sensation, bordering on just the right side of painful, never letting Derek get too used to one thing, has him _aching._

“The sounds you make,” Stiles groans. “Never. Stop. Making. Them.”

Derek feels himself blush again just as Stiles lowers his head. He can feel Stiles’ tongue hovering above his dick, the moist heat of his breath causing his legs to shake.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers. “I haven’t even really done anything yet and look at you.” He traces a hand through the pre-come coating Derek’s stomach and brings it to his lips, sucking on each finger without show, eyes fluttering shut and _moaning_ like he does when wolfing down ten curly fries at a time. If Derek can’t resist popping an awkward boner at the sounds Stiles makes over dinner, he has no chance of not making a fool of himself now, more pre-come leaking from his slit as a breathy groan escapes him.

Derek watches as Stiles’ eyes travel up the length of his body and settle on where his hands are fisting at the pillowcase above him.

“Such a good boy for me,” he praises, bringing his own hands to rest on each of Derek’s hips, keeping them in place when Derek tries to seek friction, humping the air.

“God, I can’t believe no-one’s touched you before,” he says, licking a stripe up the underside of Derek’s dick, bringing a strangled noise to Derek’s lips. “ _Seen_ you before. You’re fucking beautiful, Derek.”

Derek makes a small noise, denying Stiles’ words, but embarrassment soon gives way to mind-numbing pleasure as his dick is wrapped up in the tight, wet heat of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles wasn’t kidding when he said he knows what he’s doing, hollowing his cheeks out and sucking at the tip, driving Derek wild, forcing him to throw his head back as sounds are pulled out of him he never thought he’d be capable of making.

When his dick hits the back of Stiles’ throat, Stiles lets go of his hips and Derek can’t help but fuck up into him. He feels awkward and too much like an eager puppy, but he doesn’t care as Stiles relaxes his jaw and props himself up on his elbows, using his hands to grab Derek’s ass, encouraging him to fuck his mouth.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps, balls tightening. The need to come is desperate now, but he wants Stiles’ permission. Wants to hear him say it.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Stiles says, reading his mind, pulling off and grabbing the base of Derek’s dick, taking the edge off slightly; enough that Derek can focus on the sound of Stiles’ voice. “How badly do you want to come?” he asks, swiping at the head. Derek moans in response and Stiles starts stroking the shaft, almost reverently, the mix of pre-come and salvia easing the way.

“I asked you a question, Derek.”

“Stiles,” Derek shakes his head, unable to think of words, whimpering when Stiles removes his hand completely, leaving him painfully hard and leaking, exposed once more as Stiles drinks his fill of him.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” he soothes, crawling forward until his body is perfectly aligned with Derek’s, hips arched just enough to deny Derek any kind of friction.

“Can we try something different?” Stiles asks. He waits a beat and Derek blinks, hoping that’s enough. Stiles seems to understand, smiling and trailing his fingers down the side of Derek’s face. Derek leans into it, finally getting to experience how soft those fingers can be.

“I think you like when I tell you what to do,” Stiles whispers. “I think you get _lost_ in it.” His eyes dance and Derek breathes in deeply, blinking again. “Mm,” Stiles sounds, leaning down to lick along the shell of Derek’s ear. “I want you to come untouched. Would you like to do that for me?”

Derek makes a sound. He does want to do that for Stiles. Wants to be good. So. Damn. Badly.

“I’m so close,” Stiles says, moving to suck a bruise on Derek’s neck. “Gonna soak my underwear. All you need to do is come for me and I’m going to make a pretty mess of myself _._ All because of _you,”_ he moans the last word, the vibrations sinking into Derek’s skin and sending a hot, blazing trail of fire down his spine, exploding in his gut and making him tremble. The image alone is too much for Derek’s senses, but he needs more. Needs-

Stiles’ mouth is on his before he has to ask, claiming it hungrily with need and _intent_ and that is it, Derek is gone, closing his eyes and spilling between them in long, hot spurts, whimpering into Stiles’ mouth the whole time, unsure what to do, needs something to hold on to it’s so intense, but then Stiles’ hands are on his, lacing their fingers together.

Derek opens his eyes just in time to see Stiles come, face going slack with pleasure, eyes rolling back in his head. It’s far better than Derek has ever imagined and he commits it to memory, knowing the visual will be enough to push him over the edge when he’s left alone and once more picturing Stiles in his bed.

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispers, collapsing on top of Derek. “That was…” he pulls back, staring straight into Derek’s eyes and shaking himself.

“Can we open your letter now?” he asks, panting slightly.

Derek frowns. What-

Oh. Yeah. That’s why Stiles is doing this with him in the first place. He still can’t speak, feeling like he’s floating, but Stiles is already clambering off of him and grabbing the letter, missing the hurt look that crosses his face as he remembers.

“I’ll open it for you,” Stiles says, tearing the white envelope apart and pulling the letter out. Derek watches as Stiles’ eyes scan the piece of paper in his hand, watches them as they light up and look back to Derek.

“You got in!” he exclaims, fist pumping the air and before Derek has time to process the words, Stiles is ducking down to kiss him again. Derek doesn’t know if the surge of butterflies rising in his stomach are from the news he got accepted or the fact Stiles' mouth is once again on his.

“We’re going to have so much awesome sex living together,” Stiles breathes out, coming up for air. His face falls. “I mean, if you want to? If you have other plans-”

“Stiles,” Derek cuts him off, finally managing to find the words to speak, only to lose them again just as fast.

“Yeah, buddy?” Stiles looks at him expectantly, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and Derek thinks, what does he have left to lose?

“I’m in love with you,” he blurts out.

Stiles stares at him for all of two seconds, dumbstruck, before breaking into a wide grin and crying, “oh, thank god! Me too. I mean, I love you. Wow,” he laughs, “and to think I thought my day was going to be me having to wear Danny down until he finally told me your favourite food and movie so I could seduce you with them before we left for college.”

_What?_

“ _That’s_ why-” Derek’s eyes widen. “Not because you’re still in love with Danny?” He can’t help but ask. The words are out before he even has a chance to consider them.

“In love with Danny?” Stiles asks, frowning. “I was never in love with Danny.”

“But you dated him. For a year,” Derek argues. Stiles shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean I loved him. We were both too busy pining after other people.” He smiles shyly then; a smile Derek rarely gets the chance to see, a smile he loves more than any other smile he’s ever seen. “Danny got Jackson in the end….do I….do I get you?” he asks, eyes wide, earnest and maybe just a little bit scared.

“You’ve had me since Freshmen year, Stiles.”

“You had me since-” but that could wait until later, Derek decides, lifting his hands off the pillow and bringing them down to gather Stiles up in his arms, turning them over and nosing at the collar of his t-shirt.

“So, just how many moles do you have under here?” he asks. Stiles blushes. Actually, _blushes_ and Derek feels like he’s won an award or something.

“Too many,” he finally answers. Derek makes a content sound.

“Good,” he whispers.

***

“Oh my god!” Danny yells, turning on the light.

“My _eyes_ ,” Jackson cries. “My actual _eyes_.”

“Quit complaining, Whittemore,” Stiles yawns, turning in Derek’s arms to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. “You’ve seen my naked ass a thousand times.”

“This is a whole different context,” he complains.

“Shut up,” Derek says, frowning and breathing Stiles in. “I’m happy.” Stiles smiles against him.

“Come on,” Danny sighs- it’s his fond sigh, Derek notes- and the light is being turned off.

“But-” Jackson starts.

“You didn’t leave that bed for two days when we first got together.” Derek hears Jackson huff as the door closes.

“You should probably buy Danny a pizza later to say sorry,” Stiles says.

“ _You’re_ the reason why we’re naked in his bed in the first place,” Derek scoffs. “You buy it.”

“Can’t. Forgiveness pizzas belong in the best friend part of the bro-code handbook. If we were in Scott’s bed, I’d buy the pizza. But we’re in _your_ best friend’s bed. So. Ha.” Derek sighs.

“I’m so regretting this relationship already,” he says.

“You’re going to keep me around anyway,” Stiles replies.

 _Yeah,_ Derek thinks. _Yeah, I am._

**Author's Note:**

> If you happen to have any favourite (or have written any) virgin Derek and jock Stiles fics, oh, please, _please_ send them my way in the comments or on [ tumblr ](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/). I was stupid and bookmarked none of the ones I loved at the time and now all I get are these flash backs of dialogue and scenes which I CAN NO LONGER FIND. *sobs ugly tears*


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